


from when we were young

by going_going_gone



Series: faithless you and selfish me [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Daemons, Fluff, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, Irish Steve Rogers, Jewish Bucky Barnes, Kid Bucky Barnes, Kid Steve Rogers, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-02
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-14 14:27:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29793285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/going_going_gone/pseuds/going_going_gone
Summary: Miriam thought Steve was the bees knees, and she liked Fiona an awful lot too. That was great, because sometimes even when Bucky was meeting new folks, he pretended to be real calm, but Miriam wasn’t any good at lying, so she hung back and wouldn’t speak a word, but she never did that with Steve.Even now, after putting on that silly act in front of Ma, Miriam shifted into a cat so she and Fiona could play real fair, her lithe white kitten body crashing into Fiona’s ginger one with barely any warning. Steve giggled, and Bucky laughed too, jumping up onto his rickety bed so he could reach the little shelf that held all the little tin soldiers he’d gotten for his birthday last month.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Series: faithless you and selfish me [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2199339
Comments: 1
Kudos: 17





	from when we were young

**Author's Note:**

> daemon au! There should be more of these out there. There isn't though, so I guess I'm writing some. There'll be a few more of these little ficlets out at some point. Btw, ask me about the incredibly detailed and overthought series of headcanons I have about the daemon!MCU. I have a google doc with pictures and names and everything.

Winifred Barnes was generally considered an unflappable sort of woman. For all that the daemon who trundled around behind her seemed like a shaky, anxious thing, constantly standing at attention on two thickly furred legs, Winifred hardly batted an eye at the goings-on of the neighborhood. 

She’d grown up in the thick of things, being only an infant when her parents brought her over on the boat. The narrow streets of Brooklyn, teeming with both humans and daemons in all shapes of sizes were as familiar to her as the back of her hand. George liked to joke that all her fear was bundled into Amos’s small form, which accounted for all of the chittering and moaning about danger. 

So it was needless to say that Bucky hadn’t expected her to be so damn excitable the first time he brought Stevie home to visit. 

Or, maybe he had.

Being as they were only six, there wasn’t much reason for Steve’s daemon, Fiona, to spend so much time being an eat-your-face-off wild cat, but that didn’t mean anything to Steve, stubborn as he was. Fiona spent more’n half her time all tawny and wild, and it was sorta funny to see little Stevie walking around with a cat that belonged in a zoo rather than a tenement. 

But if Bucky had to pinpoint the reason his Ma got so hinky, it was probably Fiona, prowling into their cramped two and a quarter bedroom flat. 

Amos and Freida, Ma and Tate’s daemons, were curled up together on the couch, Ma at the stove cooking up supper, Tate in his chair reading the newspaper. Freida perked right up, her big block head turning towards the door. Amos startled, standing at attention as he chittered nervously. 

Bucky and Miriam were a little nervous too, and she’d taken the form of a sparrow as she flitted around Bucky’s head. Steve, ever oblivious, just sidled past Fiona into the room and offered Bucky’s parents a shy smile. 

“James Buchanan!” Winifred snapped, her voice edging towards shrill, “What have I told you about warning us for visitors!”

Bucky winced, because shucks, he’d just forgotten all about the talk he got after he’d brought Lucy Spinelli home after school last Wednesday. But this was different, because it was  _ Steve _ .

“This is different, Mama! This is Steve!” he protested. Miriam shifted in a blink, landing on his shoulder as a bright-eyed mouse. 

“Steve’s our friend!” she squeaked. “Our best friend!”

Amos sidled closer to Ma, wringing his little furry hands and chattering his big buck teeth. “We didn’t make supper allowing for guests,” he admonished Miriam. 

Freida left the couch with a long stretch of her big muscled body, taking slowly measured steps towards Bucky at the door. She stared him down as his father folded away his newspaper. 

“What did we say last week, Jamie?” Tate asked. 

Bucky stalled because the truth was he barely remembered. Miriam, sensing his ignorance, scurried down his arm and hopped to the ground, landing as a little pup, tail going like a propeller. She trotted over to Freida and batted at the larger dog's paws playfully. 

Freida wasn’t having it. She shrugged Miriam off, letting out a warning growl.

Steve looked uncomfortable, and Fiona was sidling closer to him, fur shivering as she took in the room. 

“You guys said…” Bucky began, but he honestly didn’t know. “You said I hadta tell you before I brought someone home?” he guessed. 

Tate didn’t look happy. Miriam cowered a bit, rolling onto her back and showing Freida her belly. Bucky could feel his shoulders curling up, and he bit his lip. 

“I’m sorry, Mr. and Mrs. Barnes,” Steve said earnestly. Bucky turned a bit, watching as Steve scuffed at the floor with one of his shoes. Fiona shifted, fast as a blink, wrapping herself around Steve’s leg as a little ginger kitten. “Bucky was just telling me about his toy soldiers, and Ma said I might get to have some toy soldiers at Christmas but that’s ages away. It’s my fault! I just got so ‘cited for ‘em.”

Ma blinked down at Steve, turning away from the stove a bit more. 

Bucky saw as she took Steve in, that she wouldn’t be turning him out. 

Truth be told, Steve was a sorry sight most days. It wasn’t that Steve was dirty-he was never dirty, and he’d told Bucky numerous times that his Ma would never let him leave the house looking anything less than put together-but it was obvious that his clothes were old and frequently mended to stretch a dollar, and that his shoes didn’t fit him. He was skinny as heck, something Bucky had learned never to point out. The accent didn’t help. Steve had only been in America for two years, and he still sounded like a Paddy. Not that Bucky would ever say anything about  _ that _ either. The older boys at school called Steve a Paddy and it made Steve madder than hell. Bucky got the sense it wasn’t a word you were supposed to use for your friends

It took a few seconds for Ma to catch up to Bucky’s point of view, and Amos spent that time standing still as a sentry, beady eyes scanning Steve intensely. 

With a gusty sigh, Ma raised her wooden spoon and pointed at Bucky. “If you show up unannounced with one of your little friends one more time, James Buchanan, I’ll paddle you so hard you won’t sit for a  _ week _ .”

“I’m sorry, Mama,” he murmured. Miriam, head hanging in shame, slunk back to Bucky and sprawled out at his feet. She stared up at Ma with a face so contrite Bucky was tempted to tell her to tone it down. He resisted the urge, turning back to Steve with an encouraging smile. 

“You’d better be!” she scolded, but then she was shooing them off towards Bucky’s room.

Bucky and Miriam best feet past Tate, still in his chair. Steve and Fiona followed at a more sedate pace. 

Once they were behind closed doors, Bucky turned back to Steve with a sheepish grin,

“Sorry pal, shoulda warned my Ma. It’s not your fault I forgot!”

Steve shrugged. “It’s okay, Bucky. Ma’s always tellin’ me to mind my manners and I always forget.”

Bucky grinned. That was what he liked so much about Steve. Everyone else called him Bucky or Jamie, even though there were about a hundred Bucky in the neighborhood and it was just plain confusing. Even though he told everyone to call him Bucky, the nickname he’d thought up for himself, Steve was the only one who used it. And he’d spent ages thinking up a new name for himself, and been quite proud to have thought of Bucky because it was loads better than just plain old Bucky, or Buchanan which was even  _ worse _ . 

Steve was great like that. He could be stubborn as hell, but he was also the nicest person Bucky had ever met. Even Mrs. Nodelman liked Steve, and Ricky Marcetti said that Mrs. Nodelman was a downright evil old battle-ax. 

Bucky’s Uncle Isaac, his Tate’s oldest brother, said that the Irish were no good, and he’d told stories about rough drunkards with wild untamed daemons who worked at the docks. Steve wasn’t like that at all. And all those things the older kids whispered out at school, about Irish girls who “wouldn’t say no” made hardly any sense to Bucky anyway. He’d met Mrs. Rogers, and he’d learned from Steve that she said no to him all the time. 

He figured Uncle Isaac was just talking applesauce, like Ma said he did sometimes. Plenty of people said bad things about Jews that just weren’t true, so it was probably a lot like that. 

Bucky thought Steve’s accent was swell. He didn’t have an accent at all, and no one in his family beside Tate did either. Tate’s accent wasn’t as cool as Steve’s anyhow, because Tate’s accent made it hard for people to understand him, and sometimes the landlord was real high-hatted about it, pretending he didn’t have any idea what Tate was saying. That was a loud of baloney though, because when Tate came around with the rent money, suddenly that old man could understand him clear as anything.

Miriam thought Steve was the bee's knees, and she liked Fiona an awful lot too. That was great, because sometimes even when Bucky was meeting new folks, he pretended to be real cool and collected, but Miriam wasn’t any good at lying, so she hung back and wouldn’t speak a word, but she never did that with Steve.

Even now, after putting on that silly act in front of Ma, Miriam shifted into a cat so she and Fiona could play real fair, her lithe white kitten body crashing into Fiona’s ginger one with barely any warning. Steve giggled, and Bucky laughed too, jumping up onto his rickety bed so he could reach the little shelf that held all the little tin soldiers he’d gotten for his birthday last month. There were only five because Ma didn’t make as much with her mending once winter ended. Plus, before Bucky turned six, he’d only ever asked for soft toys because he’d still been a baby back then. Now he’d have to ask for more until he had a proper collection. 

Steve was properly awed by the little soldiers anyway, not even blinking at how few Bucky had. Probably because Steve and his Ma were real poor, and Steve didn’t have cool toys like Bucky had. They played for a while, and Bucky was thrilled to find out that Steve was  _ great _ at playing army. He knew a bunch of words like outflank and objective and fortification, and he even helped Bucky think up the idea that the soldiers weren’t actually just soldiers, they actually just represented a bunch of one kind of soldier. So even though he only had on little soldier on a horse, he actually had a whole crew of ‘em. That meant they could put the little fella on the horse on the bedspread and that really meant that there was a load of fella’s on horses standing guard.

It was probably the most fun afternoon ever, and he was in such a good mood he didn’t even get frustrated when Ma called them out for supper. His little sisters and their daemons were coming out of their room just and Bucky and Miriam were urging Steve and Fiona towards the sink. Nimon was perched on Becca’s bony shoulder a tiny wren with bright black eyes, shuffling his feathers and he studied Steve. Becca looked suspicious of the newcomer. Rachel and Uriel barely even noticed, the pair of them stumbling towards the table happily. Ma sent her off the wash up with just a look. 

Once they were washed for supper, Bucky bundled Steve into the seat next to him, grinning at his friend’s astonishment over all the food. He’d been to dinner with the Rogers’ only once, and Mrs. Rogers was a good cook, but there was a difference between dinner for three and dinner for five, or six with the addition of Steve. 

Ma had made a roast, and the covetous way Steve looked at it made Miriam purr. He really liked that Steve was impressed. He liked being impressive, and his Ma was just about the best cook in the world, so he knew that dinner would knock Steve’s socks off. 

Once Ma and Tate had sat down, Tate said the Bracha. Steve looked a little lost, watching them all before giving a tremulous amen a beat too late. Once Tate had filled their bowls, Bucky turned to Steve with a smile. 

“If you wanna say your prayer, that’s fine!’ he offered. “I know you and your Ma do it different.”

Steve flushed as the table seemed to turn their eyes on him at once, but he still bent his head doing that cross thing Bucky had seen other Catholics do, muttering quickly under his breath. Once he’d finished, he did the cross thing again. 

“Why’d you say it so quiet?” Nimon asked, hopping gently across Becca’s shoulder to peer around her head at Steve. 

Steve’s cheeks got even redder, and he sunk into his chair. 

Bucky turned on his sister with a sharp look. “Buzz off Becca. Leave ‘em alone!”

“James!” Ma said. “Be nice to your sister.”

“Um, we only say it loud if there’s more’n one person,” Steve said. “I say it quiet when I’m at school too, cause Bucky doesn’t say grace like me.”

Becca shrugged, having lost interest after getting to see Bucky scolded. 

“Steve always says his prayers,” Bucky boasted, eager for his parents to like his very best friend. He knew adults liked kids who said their prayers and acted good. Steve definitely did the first, and if you didn't count the endless scuffles he was always getting into, he did the second too. “He’s even got a special necklace to keep track of ‘em!”

Judy, only three, ignored them all in favor of shoving carrots into her face, but Ma and Tate were smiling at Steve. That was a  _ great _ sign. Miriam leapt into the air as a cat and took off mid-jump with the wings of a finch, fluttering above the table excitedly. Fiona didn’t alight on her own wings like she usually wood, instead becoming a mouse so she could burrow into Steve’s lap. The smaller boy rubbed at her fur nervously. 

“It’s called a rosary, Buck,” Steve murmured. 

Tate grinned. “Prayer is important,” he assured Steve. “If only Jamie would follow your example.”

Bucky frowned. “I don’t know how to do a rosary.”

Ma and Tate laughed. 

Feeling a bit mocked, Bucky took a large bite, scowling at this parents. Steve followed suit, albeit with a smaller portion. They ate in silence for a few long moments, the only sounds being the scraping of forks and the rustling of their daemons. Freida and Amos had ended up back on the couch, watching dinner with their usual casual interest. 

“What does your mother do, Steve?” Ma asked, eventually. Bucky perked up again. 

Steve smiled a bit. “Ma’s a nurse at Mercy Hospital. She used to work with the babies but now she works with the heart doctor. Ma and Aodhan said that working with babies was more fun but working with Dr. Fredericksen is more interesting.”

“And your father?” Ma pressed.

Bucky sat up straighter, ready to launch into an explanation because he knew Steve still got real sad about his father, but Steve just shrugged.

“My Da died in the war,” he mumbled. 

Dinner was quiet and awkward for a good long while. Bucky had almost cleared his plate, glaring at his Ma for making Steve and Fiona so sad, when Tate leaned forward. 

“How do you like baseball, Steve?” he asked. 

Bucky blinked. Tate  _ hated _ baseball. He said it didn’t make any sense and nothing very interesting happened. When the whole family sat together to listen to the radio, Bucky rarely ever got his first choice, which was always listening to a Dodgers game. Sometimes all they got to listen to was the news, but more often than not it was one of his Ma’s favorite serials. They were good, but nothing beat the Dodgers. 

Steve didn’t even have a radio-the only reason  _ Bucky’s _ family had a radio was that Uncle Isaac and Uncle David owned a repair store. They never woulda afforded one otherwise.

“I like baseball a whole lot, Mr. Barnes,” Steve assured Tate. “I think Buck’ll be a ballplayer when he grows up, because he’s red hot at stickball. Best in the neighborhood.”

Tate chuckled while Bucky blushed at the compliment. Steve was always saying things like that. It wasn’t even true, really. Owen McCafferty was loads better than Bucky, and he was only a year older. 

“Bucky’s the best runner on the block,” Fiona insisted as if she could hear Bucky’s thoughts as clear as Miriam could. 

“Steve’s an artist,” Miriam shot back. 

Bucky nodded, turning a smug smile on his best friend. Steve blushed for the hundredth time that night. His pale Irish face was always blaring like a stoplight. 

“Boys,” Tate laughed. “No fighting.”

“Sorry, Tate,” Bucky grinned. 

“Steve, how’d you like to listen to the Dodger’s game before you head home?” Tate offered. Bucky and Steve threw matching smiles at him, and both boys were over the moon.

Ma had to remind them to finish their dinner they were so excited.

All in all, Bucky was well pleased with how the night turned out. 

  
  



End file.
